


maybe i'm a fool (for you)

by madameofmusic



Series: Tumblr Fic [12]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Unrequited Troyson, past pimms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-10 23:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Jack's still in the playoffs, weeks after the Aces finished their season. It's a lot to handle.





	maybe i'm a fool (for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Title from [Cherry Hill by Russ.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoOli-fR_cs)

Kent’s fingers trace the label of some fancy lager. His fingers trail through the condensation and bring it to the table, drawing pictures in icy swaths of water. He’s been watching the Falcs game for the last thirty minutes, trying to pretend his eyes aren’t following Jack’s every movement. 

He’s just a little past buzzed, and exhausted. It had been a long road to ruin this season. The Aces hadn’t even qualified, ending up fifth out of seven in their division. It’s his worst season yet, and he hadn’t felt right in his skates since January.

The Providence Falconers scored again, and the buzz of the goal echoed in his head like a gunshot. Up two now, they were well on their way to getting the cup. It looked like they might, every single analyst and sportswriter calling them a “major contender.” 

It made Kent sick.

On his darkest days, he let himself think that the only reason he asked Jack to sign with Las Vegas was because Jack was a better player than he was, and Kent had spent the better part of seven years looking behind him for a face that wasn’t there anymore, passing to empty space, and trying to play it off like he was fine. 

It was ridiculous, and on his better days, he knew he was a major reason the Aces had won two cups in the ten years that they’d been a team. 

It was hard, though, to tell himself that when he was in a bar in Boston and Jack was playing in New York, and winning when Kent was the first pick, supposed to be better and yet-

It’s a lot. 

“Another?” Kent was snapped out of his reverie by Jeff, handing him another bottle. 

“Thanks,” Kent said, taking it and setting it to his half-empty by his elbow. 

Jeff took the stool next to him, and knocked his knee against Kent’s. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” 

“What?” Kent looked sharply at Jeff, and frowned. “You can’t say-”

“I can. The central division has always been chock full of contenders, and Minnesota took us out. That’s not your fault.” 

Kent looked away, and drained the rest of his bottle. “Sure.”

Jeff sighed, and looked back up to the screen. “Falcs are better this year. Think that’s ‘cuz of Zimmermann?” 

Kent shrugged. “Probably.” 

Jeff sighed again, louder, and then stood. “C’mon Parser. I’m done watching you be a sad sack of shit tonight. I didn’t invite you to come to Boston with me so you could mope.” 

Kent smiled, self-deprecating, and stood as well. He chugged down as much of the other lager as he could until the bite became too much, and then grabbed his coat, throwing twenty bucks on the bar in the process. “Let’s go.” 

Jeff led him down the sidewalk a few blocks, stopping every so often to point out shops he’d went to growing up, or points of interest. Kent listened carefully, and then called him a Boston-boy, which earned him a elbow to the side. 

But Jeff laughed, and so did Kent. They stopped, just as the cool Boston air, the complete opposite of the dry Vegas heat, begin to nip. Jeff pulled him into a diner, and they took the first open seat. There was almost no one there, as they were well past the dinner rush, and not early enough to catch the bargoers. 

There was a stain on the table, in the middle of four red-and-white checkered squares. Kent’s fingers brush over it without meaning to, and it catches his attention for longer than he wants. 

Jeff orders them pie, and burgers, and fries, and says they can share a milkshake even though they could buy this diner and five more on their combined paychecks, but he doesn’t complain. “It’s peanut butter,” Jeff says. “Your favourite.”

Kent doesn’t mention how his favourite is strawberry but the last time he saw Jack smile was in a diner like this one, over a peanut butter shake, and the memory is too solid to leave him any time soon, so he reminds himself in peanut butter shakes and shitty diners. Instead, he nods. “How’d you remember?” 

Jeff shrugs, flashes him a grin. “I know you.”

If Kent were more into ironies, he’d laugh. Instead, he grins back, and kick’s Jeff’s foot. “You do.” 

They eat french fries and dip them into a shared shake, and for a second, Kent forgets the way Jack’s form was stark against the ice as he scored the game winning goal in the Memorial Cup. 

Just for a moment, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm offering fic for Fandom Loves Puerto Rico. Check out my post [here,](https://fandomlovespuertorico.dreamwidth.org/669.html?thread=88221#cmt88221) and the rest of the challenge [here.](https://fandomlovespuertorico.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> As always, my [tumblr.](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/)


End file.
